


these foolish things (remind me of you)

by reprise



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, Implied Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reprise/pseuds/reprise
Summary: Oikawa helps Iwaizumi move into his new college dorm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> some part of me still believes in a world where iwaoi attend the same university  
> the rest of me is broken, as demonstrated by the following :(  
> i made a new sideblog (@[keisshi](http://keisshi.tumblr.com)) for these losers who are ruining my life so please come cry with me if you want!  
> the title comes from a jazz standard - [ella fitzgerald](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLbgNvjyS4I) and [the oscar peterson trio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNmz8_LN-7U) will take your heart into their hands.

Belatedly, Oikawa realizes that this might not have been a good idea.

It isn’t until he sees Iwaizumi carrying in a ragged box, so packed with his old volleyball magazines and various school supplies that it’s almost falling apart at the seams, and he finds himself identifying with a fucking cardboard box of all things that he thinks maybe offering to help Iwaizumi move into his new dorm wasn’t the best move for his personal health. Iwaizumi carelessly drops the box on the floor, and Oikawa watches as the edges of the poor thing sag down and nearly give out.

 _You and me both_ , he thinks.

He lets himself sulk and collapses on Iwaizumi’s bed to mimic his new best friend.

“Are you kidding me? You came here to help, not to nap, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi gripes as he brings in another box.

“Some of us were born for a bigger purpose than menial labor,” Oikawa hums. “My apologies that you were not one of us.”

“Why are you so useless.” The fan of the bathroom muffles Iwaizumi’s old insult as he unpacks his toiletries, but even then, Oikawa knows that there’s no heat behind it.

What he doesn’t ask is why Oikawa decided to come in the first place, and for that, Oikawa is grateful. The past few weeks have felt like a strange, static limbo, where Iwaizumi could make jokes about kicking Oikawa’s ass in the college circuit and Oikawa wouldn’t hurt all over like he did when they first decided to go to different universities because none of it felt real enough yet. They talked about classes they were thinking of taking and people they knew who were already attending their schools; sometimes, they talked about high school and their old team. Oikawa felt safe like that – looking back on the past, but not forging ahead to the future quite yet. So when Iwaizumi’s parents mentioned that they had extra space in their car and wouldn’t mind taking Oikawa with them to Sendai University, Oikawa readily agreed because he hadn’t learned how to be apart from Iwaizumi yet.

But now that he’s staring up at the ceiling of this small, foreign bedroom while Iwaizumi unpacks his collection of t-shirts with ridiculous slogans, Oikawa doesn’t know what to do with himself. Maybe if he doesn’t help, Iwaizumi will just get fed up with everything, decide it’s too much trouble, and come back home with him. He sighs, knowing it’s more likely that Ushiwaka will quit volleyball before that happens. Turning over onto his stomach, he grabs a pillow and pulls it to his chest.

Oikawa wants to ask where he can unpack himself, wants to know where to put these small tidbits of Iwaizumi that he’s kept in his pockets for the past eighteen years so that he doesn’t have to bring them with him to Tokyo. Not having them will be easier than remembering them and missing every single piece.

Instead, he pushes himself off the bed and walks over to the pile of boxes in the middle of the room. He searches through them diligently, only stopping every now and then to appreciate the familiar smell of the Iwaizumi household that wafts through the air upon opening each one, until he finds it – a small Godzilla figurine that he gave Iwaizumi for his fourteenth birthday. He places it on the empty desk nearby and sits down in the chair to admire it.

He figures it’s okay to be sentimental about these sorts of things. Old childhood trinkets from the simpler times. Antiques that would evoke a sense of nostalgia from any passerby. It’s other, bigger things that Oikawa won’t let himself think about.

The room is quiet in a way that it never is when they’re together. Iwaizumi comes over and gently rests a hand in his hair, thick fingers absently carding through the soft, brown strands as he stares at the figurine, and Oikawa finds himself thinking about them anyway.

 

 

There’s a kiss quietly tucked in between their second and third years in junior high school. It sits in Oikawa’s memory like a pebble at the bottom of a river, worn smooth and glossy as a result of his undulating, constant stream of thought running over it late at night.

They had just finished playing volleyball in the park with some other neighborhood kids, and they stopped on their way home to buy some food from the nearest convenience store. Oikawa remembers with startling clarity sitting on the bench outside and basking in a rare, genuine high – Kageyama’s existence had yet to enter his field of adolescence, his best friend was inside the store buying him milk bread, and his palms stung with the satisfying victory of a good match. Things were easy, as they were in the spring when the breeze tousled Oikawa’s hair with humor and guided falling petals into the center of his palm.

Iwaizumi walked out with a bag in one hand and their volleyball in another. He joined Oikawa on the bench, handing him his bread and pulling out a Garigari-kun ice pop for himself. His smile was easy, too, loose with relaxation and contentment. Their knees knocked against each other as they ate.

As they talked about the match they had just played, the wind blew a few white petals into Iwaizumi’s hair. Iwaizumi, intently focused on his popsicle, failed to notice. Oikawa giggled to himself and leaned in to remove them. At that moment, Iwaizumi turned to him to say something, and their lips met briefly.

The world didn’t stop turning. A truck rolled by them. Iwaizumi dropped the volleyball he was holding. Oikawa heard it as it bounced away.

The world didn’t stop turning, but Oikawa always watches this part in slow-motion in his mind. He tries to zoom in on Iwaizumi’s expression, looking for something that isn’t quite there yet.

Iwaizumi was the first to pull back. His eyes were wide and startled, and Oikawa felt panic rising in his chest, even if he didn’t know why.

“Sorry, I–” 

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi muttered, and he turned his face turned away from Oikawa. He nervously scuffed his shoes against the pavement. “We can just pretend like this never happened.”

Oikawa stared at the smooth tan skin of Iwaizumi’s neck that was slowly reddening, centimeter by centimeter, and curled his fingers into his palm to stop himself from reaching out. He took a shaky breath and forced out a laugh.

“Okay. Thanks, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi stepped away to chase after their volleyball, the back of his neck still burning something fierce and scarlet.

A few months into their third year, Oikawa started dating a girl in his homeroom class, who was all delicate, long hair tucked behind her ear, warm smiles, and a hint of floral perfume, because that’s what popular boys did at the top of the junior high social food chain. Iwaizumi never visited during lunch period anymore, eating in his classroom with some other boys instead. At some point, Oikawa stopped eating lunch entirely and told his girlfriend that he wanted to spend the period practicing for their upcoming volleyball tournament, and it held enough truth to it that even he forgot it was a lie after a few days.

When they first kissed behind the bike racks, Oikawa’s heart thudded quietly inside his chest like a ball that had been dropped. Upon leaning back, he examined the pale pink streaks running across her cheeks, the image a vapid watercolor imitation of the vibrancy of spring. At the time, he chalked up his disappointment to the bad romance dramas that his sister was always watching.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. Does he remember? Does the weight of it drag him closer in the same way it pulls Oikawa to Iwaizumi, imperceptibly yet undeniably?

Iwaizumi turns to look at him and raises his eyebrows.

“Did you have to bring that hanger with my face on it?”

 

 

They take a break for lunch – or rather, Iwaizumi takes a break for lunch, and Oikawa joins him.

In all honesty, there isn’t much left to unpack, save for a few boxes of clothes and books. Oikawa doesn’t know if Iwaizumi realized that he’d been slowing his pace as the number of boxes dwindled down to what they are now. Still, he doesn’t argue when Iwaizumi mentions a ramen shop they had passed earlier.

They’re a mess of rattled coping mechanisms and unspoken nerves. Iwaizumi chews on his thumbnail as he flips through the menu. Oikawa drums his fingers on the tabletop incessantly. The menu is entirely superfluous, given that they order the same thing every time they have ramen. Iwaizumi wants an excuse to not look at him, and Oikawa lets him have it. Eventually, Iwaizumi seems to shake himself out of whatever he’s thinking about and orders for both of them.

“I feel like Matsukawa and Hanamaki should be here,” he says after a beat. 

“My presence is more than satisfactory,” Oikawa says, pouting.

Iwaizumi snorts at his petulant expression and says, “You know what I mean. It just feels weird not ordering tantanmen right now.”

Oikawa smiles at the countless memories of the four of them eating after practice together. He can do this, talk about the past. _Coping mechanisms_ , he thinks before he dives into a story about Hanamaki laughing so hard that his noodles went up his nose that Iwaizumi was there for. Iwaizumi laughs in all the right places and fills in the gaps that Oikawa forgets.

“Makki was in tears–”

“And Matsukawa was choking on his water–”

“I swear we were almost thrown out–”

 

 

Oikawa knows that Matsukawa and Hanamaki started a bet during high school with the rest of their teammates on whether he and Iwaizumi had ever hooked up or not. He knows because Kindaichi had blushed every time he made eye contact with either one of them and suffered from an abysmal spiking performance that week because of it.

“I’m insulted that any of you would think I’d waste these gorgeous looks on Iwa-chan,” Oikawa lamented at the end of their last practice of the week. He sadly looked into the mirror hanging on his locker door. “This face of mine has such high standards that Iwa-chan could only hope to achieve.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes at the dramatics and shrugged on his jacket.

“That face of yours better shut up before it gets punched.”

Eventually, Iwaizumi told Hanamaki to give everyone their money back and to stop wasting their time. Oikawa, on the other hand, started a betting pool on Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s relationship. (“Two thousand yen says someone got a blowjob in the locker room,” Oikawa bet. He won. Matsukawa unapologetically stuck his hand out for a high-five. Kindaichi didn’t use the locker room for the next few days.)

Oikawa started cracking the whip during practices when the Inter-high Preliminaries were only weeks away, and no one had time to think about it anymore.

Everything was going smoothly, save for his bad knee, but he couldn't afford to slow down, not when he knew Ushiwaka was preparing for the same tournament. He pushed himself through team practice, individual practice, and finally, Iwaizumi’s nagging. He didn’t think much of it until one of his wing spikers ran into him during a practice match. When he landed on the gym floor, pain shot through his leg and brought him crumpling down within seconds.

What happened next is foggy in Oikawa’s mind. All he remembers is lying on the floor and clutching his knee, swearing under his breath. A circle of looming figures was closing in on him. Everything was so loud.

“Back off, give him space,” came Iwaizumi’s gruff voice as he struggled through the crowd. They parted to allow him through, and Oikawa would’ve laughed at the image if Iwaizumi didn’t have such a distressed look on his face. He closed his eyes instead. The aching in his chest momentarily distracted him from his leg.

Iwaizumi wrapped Oikawa’s arm around his shoulders and slowly tried to get both of them to stand. The memory ends with the two of them limping to the locker room. Somewhere along the way, Oikawa met Hanamaki’s eyes, and something like understanding dawned in Hanamaki’s face. None of this makes sense, even now.

What he doesn’t know is this: Kindaichi stepping out to help, but freezing at a low growl. Iwaizumi’s possessiveness and anger radiating off of him in waves. Iwaizumi saying in a low voice, “I’ll take care of him.”

 

 

“You need to learn how to take care of yourself,” Iwaizumi says.

They’re back at his dorm room, their stomachs full and their mouths dry from retelling stories. Iwaizumi hangs up a few of his sweaters in the closet as he’s talking, so Oikawa can’t see his expression.

“Is Iwa-chan worried about me?” Oikawa fakes surprise and bats his eyelashes at him.

“Don’t forget to eat regularly,” Iwaizumi says, fiddling with one of the hangers.

“Iwa-chan, are you my mom?”

“I’m being serious, Shittykawa.”

“And I’m seriously asking if you're my mom.”

“Get enough sleep. Don’t stay out too late getting drunk off your ass again. At least make sure someone takes care of you. Sawamura’s going to your school, right? He’ll be able to keep an eye out for you so you don’t kill yourself in a freak accident.” He’s rambling. Oikawa stares at the tense line in between his shoulder blades and doesn’t call him out for it. He doesn’t know how to deal with any of this either.

“I’ve only gotten drunk once,” he says instead. He takes a few volumes of Iwaizumi’s favorite manga off the bookshelf and places them back in a box so that Iwaizumi will have to reshelve them later.

 

 

“What were you guys thinking?” Iwaizumi demanded when he showed up at Hanamaki’s house. Matsukawa and Oikawa were singing Disney classics at the top of their lungs, loudly enough that Iwaizumi could hear it from the driveway. At least Hanamaki was sober enough to look somewhat ashamed.

“I didn’t think it would get out of hand,” Hanamaki said as he led Iwaizumi into his living room. Empty beer cans were discarded all about the room.

“Iwa-chan! I can show you the world,” Oikawa sung as soon as he saw him.

“Shining, shimmering, splendid,” Matsukawa boomed.

“Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart desire?” Oikawa crooned, and he cupped Iwaizumi’s face in his warm hands.

Iwaizumi scowled and slapped them away, turning on his heel to glare at Hanamaki.

“How many drinks have they had?”

“A whole six beers~” Oikawa sung. He was hanging off of Matsukawa’s shoulders now. A duet was imminent.

Iwaizumi managed to wrestle the microphone away from Matsukawa’s vice-like grip while Hanamaki shut off his karaoke machine.

“In my defense,” Hanamaki said as Iwaizumi had to bodily drag Oikawa through the doorway, “we were just trying to get our captain to loosen up a bit. He’s been uptight ever since Kageyama got that invitation to the All-Japan training camp.”

“Tobio-chan learned everything from me,” Oikawa slurred. He was drooling on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“Including your terrible manners,” Iwaizumi said. He wrapped a scarf around Oikawa’s neck and bid Hanamaki goodnight before shoving Oikawa into his car.

The ride home was short. Oikawa continued humming “A Whole New World” underneath his breath, stealing glances at Iwaizumi whose face was periodically illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights. He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he remembers is Iwaizumi walking him to his bedroom.

“You’re so drunk.” Iwaizumi had managed to sound grumpy and amused at the same time as he supported Oikawa’s weight on his shoulders. “I bet you won’t even remember any of this in the morning,” he grumbled as he tossed Oikawa onto his bed. It took a few seconds for Oikawa to reorient himself, vision blurring at the sudden appearance of familiar phosphorescent stars on his ceiling.

“I never forget anything,” Oikawa said. He recognized that this moment was important, in the way that even the slightest coherent thought is profound and groundbreaking when you’re drunk off cheap beer, and struggled to sit up on his bed in order to look Iwaizumi in the eyes. His breath caught at the sight of Iwaizumi’s sharp collarbones outlined by the moonlight streaming in from his window. Oikawa wanted to know if he was sharp everywhere else. “Not when it comes to you.”

Part of him was drunk and careless. Another part of him ached for the glowing blush across Iwaizumi’s smooth skin, had been aching for as long as he could remember.

 _I win_ , Oikawa thought slowly as he was rewarded with a flush that flooded Iwaizumi’s previously composed face. Oikawa grew warm inside, the heat spreading to the parts of him that the alcohol had failed to reach.

“This year wasn’t so bad, Iwa-chan,” he said, like they hadn’t failed their last chance to fulfill their childhood dream, like they weren’t about to take separate paths for the first time ever. He pressed his index finger to the lines in between Iwaizumi’s eyebrows and watched in awe at how the skin immediately relaxed underneath his touch. Iwaizumi brought up his hand to hold Oikawa’s, his touch gentle.

“Yeah, it wasn’t.”

 

 

Iwaizumi is down to his last box. They both stare at it. The silence is overwhelming. 

He’s desperate for something to happen.

It must show on his face because Iwaizumi blushes and looks away.

The thing is, Oikawa always looks at him like this when Iwaizumi isn’t paying attention.

 

 

Last week, when the air was starting to warm and coax out some of the early spring blossoms, the two of them were hanging out in Oikawa’s bedroom.

Oikawa was sitting on his bed, reading an interview with Kageyama in the newest issue of Volleyball Weekly. Iwaizumi perused his bookshelf for any of his old stuff that Oikawa had never bothered returning.

“Iwa-chan, can you believe this? Tobio didn’t bother thanking me at all, even though I taught him everything. But he mentions _you_.”

Iwaizumi smirked at that, and Oikawa wanted to inscribe that expression into his mind. He sat down next to Oikawa to read over his shoulder.

“There are some seniors who have greatly influenced my playing, like Sugawara-senpai, the other setter on our team. I’d also like to thank Iwaizumi-san who looked out for me during middle school–”

Oikawa slammed the cover of the magazine shut, stopping Iwaizumi in his recitation of Kageyama’s declaration of love for him.

“Are you jealous?” Iwaizumi asked smugly.

“Seriously, everyone had a crush on you back then. Especially Tobio and Kindaichi. Actually, Kindaichi probably still likes you,” Oikawa said because it didn’t matter now that they had graduated. He laughed a little at the thought of Kindaichi’s face whenever Iwaizumi complimented him.

“What about you?”

Oikawa froze.

Slowly, he turned to look at Iwaizumi. He was sitting closer than Oikawa realized, the heat of his skin grazing Oikawa’s knees.

He doesn’t know who moved first, but maybe it was that memory of spring from four years ago in between them, a small force pulling them closer together and accelerating towards this moment. All he knew was that Iwaizumi was finally kissing him, like a drowning man at sea begging for one last breath before going under. The force of it knocked Oikawa backwards onto his bed, and Iwaizumi readily followed him. Oikawa confused his own erratic heartbeat with the hammering in Iwaizumi’s chest and felt winded.

It was nothing like Oikawa had imagined because in his head, he never thought his throat would tighten in the middle of it. He didn’t account for the pressure behind his eyes that pounded with the unfairness of it all.

Iwaizumi pulled back too soon, and Oikawa chased his warmth unconsciously, grabbing the front of his shirt to keep him from going too far.

“I'm sorry,” Iwaizumi started.

“Please,” Oikawa interrupted, “please don’t apologize. Don’t–”

“No, not– not for that. Just. The timing.”

Oikawa had nothing to say to that.

Iwaizumi leaned his forehead against his, warm and solid, and they breathed in each other’s air.

Eighteen years, and this was all they had to show for it.

“I tried. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. Tooru, you have to know–”

Oikawa pulled him down and kissed him again because he did know.

Not having this would be easier than remembering him and missing every single piece.

 

 

“It’s about three hundred kilometers to Tokyo from here.”

“They say it’s less than three hours by train.”

“Yeah. It’s really not that far.”

“Yeah. And we have the tournaments. And the school breaks.”

“Text me. Or call me. Whenever.”

“I will. You too.”

 

 

“I’ll miss you.”

“I – yeah, me too.”


End file.
